Truth and Entrapment
by Heather
Summary: Mulder must find the truth in his heart before the lies get to him.


Title: "Truth and Entrapment"  
Author: Heather Horn   
Rating: PG  
Category: MSR, A  
Original Post Date: 04/04/00 - Revised 03/27/02  
Summary: Will Mulder find the truth locked in his heart   
before the lies get underneath his skin?  
Spoilers: "Millennium" and "En Ami"  
Distribution: Anywhere and everywhere. Please keep my name   
attached and tell me where you are putting it. Thank you!  
Feedback: Please send any comments - kisses and flames are   
both greatly appreciated - to heathabear@hotmail.com.   
Thanks a billion!  
Disclaimer: "The X-Files" is copyright Chris Carter, 1013   
Productions, and The FOX Network. No money is being made   
from this. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Acknowledgements: Thanks, Marie, for all of your hard work,   
kind words, and input - you're the best beta-reader a  
writer could ever ask for.  
  
  
"Love conquers all." - Virgil  
  
  
"Truth and Entrapment" (1/1)  
By Heather Horn  
  
It began with a spark. A spark that caused Fox Mulder to   
lie in bed that night, and many nights after, wondering what   
that spark would ignite. He replayed the mesmerizing moment   
in his head hundreds of times, that entrancing midnight   
moment. He had kissed her, and this time around, she did   
not turn into a pumpkin.   
  
This was all he recalled. He could not recollect how he   
came to kiss her, or what was said in the aftermath,   
if anything. All he fathomed was that he had kissed her, and   
this kiss had become his nightly subject of analysis. Sometimes   
he would cogitate over the notion for hours, delving for its   
clandestine signification - or perhaps the essence that   
paraded right before his blind eyes. Other times, he would   
simply play the scene repeatedly in his mind,   
smiling contentedly to himself, his eyelids closed over his   
inscrutable hazel eyes. He would fantasize about their   
future together, and reminisce about the good old days. He   
yearned to have her next to him, not in his bed,   
necessarily, but on the couch, perhaps. She would laugh   
with him over the memory of the time that they went   
undercover as a married couple, then she would cry with him  
over the thought of their Antarctic adventure.   
  
She would, that is, if they ever spoke of such times.   
However, their experiences together, whether they induced   
smiles or tears, were only remembrances instilled in each of   
their minds. To Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, these memories   
were solitary, never permitted to slip into a conversation.  
  
Mulder counted his blessings for the gift of these memories,   
and guarded them with his life. The only thing more   
important to him than his memories of Scully was Scully   
herself. She had been taken from him many times in the   
past, and contrary to what some might say, if you do not   
watch out, memories can be stolen, too.  
  
This time, it was not his memories that were embezzled.   
They were all there, each and every one of them. His heart,   
not a chip off the edge, but his entire heart, was missing,   
proclaimed dead on arrival. The New Year that had seemed so   
auspicious had not brought them closer together. Instead,   
it pulled them apart.  
  
He had not truly spoken to her in two months, not since she   
went on a road trip with a rather ambiguous character,   
leaving Mulder sick with anxiety. He did not fear betrayal,   
for he knew that she would never leave him. He found the   
entire predicament to be outright bemusing. But deep down,   
he knew why they did not speak. He was belligerent when she   
had returned, interrogating her judgement and causing her   
chagrin in front of their friends. This put her in no   
position to open up to him, regardless of how much she might   
have desired to. Looking back on it, he did not know why he   
was so cruel. He had run off many times before, and albeit   
she worried like crazy, she never held it against him in the  
long run. She expected the same from him, and he failed to   
pay her that respect. This was his punishment from her, and   
he knew that he deserved it.   
  
It was so hard to give Scully the cold shoulder, to brush   
her off like a piece of lint on a sweater. He knew there   
was no liable excuse for his actions, but they were not   
without reason.   
  
He was afraid.  
  
Not just apprehensive, but   
scared-out-of-his-stark-raving-mad-mind afraid. Everyone   
has a trepidation; a worst nightmare that they never want to  
encounter. Some people are afraid of heights, some of   
water, some of bees. Mulder was afraid of lies. Lies were   
his worst enemy. They seemed to be everywhere, in the form  
of anyone and anything that stepped in the way of his truth,   
stepped in the way of Scully.   
  
They had the same standard "Hi-How are you?" dialogue every   
morning at the office, but it had been awhile since they had   
taken part in a meaningful conversation. They were not fans  
of crying festivals at which they disclosed their every   
feeling and passion, but still, something felt quite   
strange; rather off-key and out-of-place. If it were anyone   
but her, he would suspect that she had wandered over to The   
Other Side. It was not someone else, though - it was Scully.   
He loved her, and he prayed that she loved him.  
  
The pain that his longing for Scully caused was too much to   
bear, and there was nothing he could do to numb its   
hardships. Tylenol, Advil, Smirnoff, even his favorite   
movie ceased to ease his anguish. The only thing left to do  
in the madness of his loneliness sat on his nightstand as it  
did every night, but tonight it possessed a violent tranquility.  
  
The sleek, dark gun with its rigid trigger was so inviting.   
It was a companion; it offered to halt his desolation. The   
gun was wise, and as he held it in his hand, the enigmas of   
the world made sense. It was no wonder that she had   
rejected him. She was assigned to the X-Files because he   
was a crackpot, and it ruined her immaculate record, the   
record as spotless as her pearly-white teeth. She was   
abducted because of him, she could never have children of   
her own because of him, and she had cancer because of him,   
which brought him to the reason of his previous attempt at   
ending his godforsaken life.   
  
It did not take him long to decide where he would inflict   
the lethal bullet. A hole in the space where his heart   
formerly resided would do the trick rather justly. He took   
the gun off of its safety setting and transferred the heavy   
object from palm to palm. His sweat permeated onto the   
handle, and the gun slipped from the grasp of his tired hands,   
hitting the floor with a loud crash that inspired him to jump   
halfway across the room.  
  
This miniscule setback could not stop him. The weapon   
called to him now, in a piercing voice that made his head   
throb turbulently. It was beckoning him to pick it up once   
more. He realized that it wanted to be a part of him as   
much as he wanted to be a part of Scully. Its hypnotic   
vigor pulled his index finger toward the trigger.  
  
"Mulder," it called coyly, and he brought the gun slowly to  
his chest, cringing at the bitter cold unfriendliness of the   
barrel up against his bare skin.   
  
*Tap, tap, tap*  
  
"Mulder? Mulder, it's me."  
  
As he heard the cherubic voice flowing musically from behind   
the heavy oak door, he was graced with the perception of a   
novel revelation. She had not rejected him, but accepted   
him as much as she could without passing that thin but   
prominent line between friendship and love. His heart   
wasn't broken, only chipped. All he needed to fix it was a   
little Scotch Tape and. . . Her. He had nothing to die for,   
and everything to live for. He had her to live for.   
  
Pulling his tattered New York Knicks T-shirt over his head,   
he returned the gun to its place on the nightstand and   
hurried to answer the door before he changed his mind.  
  
She stood seriously, as she always did, her posture making   
up for her stature. But there was a certain weariness to   
her, and her clear, lustrous, blue eyes ceased to sparkle   
the way they usually did. She did not look melancholy,   
exactly, but seemed simultaneously disappointed and   
relieved.  
  
"Sorry to bother you so late," she murmured as she tried to   
sort through her perplexity.  
  
"It's not la-" he began, but a quick glance at the clock   
told him otherwise. "It's not a bother."  
  
He opened the door to its full capacity, and she stepped in,   
staring down at her feet instead of looking him straight in   
the eye with the withering stare that she normally used.   
She was silent for several moments, and he matched her   
silence, too preoccupied wondering what she would say to   
ask her to say it. But she came around on her own   
time - she always did. She was grateful that he had given   
her the time she needed to collect herself. After one last   
deep breath, she was able to look him in the eye. Her stare  
was not the same, though, not as captivating and demanding.   
But before he could decipher the swirling pools of her eyes,   
she spoke.  
  
"Mulder, the Smoking Man," she began, keeping her voice   
strangely monotonous to prevent it from shaking, "Is dead."  
  
It was his turn to instigate the silence now, and his round   
hazel eyes adopted the same glassy look as hers. The   
silence trudged on for several more moments, and when he   
finally spoke, it was nothing above a whisper.  
  
"Are you sure it's him?" He asked in disbelief. He wasn't   
despondent, but he wasn't exactly breaking into song,   
either. His eyes met hers again, and she slowly moved her   
head up and down, never breaking eye contact with him.   
  
"The body mysteriously vanished within the last hour, but   
Skinner got a good look at it. He found a letter addressed   
to you." She used her matter-of-fact business voice, but it   
trembled continuously. She handed him a creased white   
envelope with the letters F-O-X written across the front in   
black ink, her hand shaking as she did so. She did not   
know what to make of the ordeal, and although she knew   
that she should not depend on him at a time like this,   
she looked to him for guidance.   
  
His eyes met hers and for just a moment, she looked like a   
helpless little girl. He shook the image quickly from his  
head, though, because he knew that Scully was anything but  
helpless. Taking the initiative, he flipped a light switch,   
leading her into the living room. They both chose separate   
ends of the couch, and a gap as wide as an ocean flowed   
between them. They were comforted by each other's presence,   
though, knowing that it would be all right as long as they   
each had their other half. He opened the letter and coughed   
as the scent of smoke entered his lungs.   
  
Damn bastard, he thought, but he held his tongue for the   
sake of not making her more uncomfortable than she already   
was. Biting down on his lower lip, he forced himself to read.  
  
His eyes, which had become strained and bloodshot due to   
insomnia, ran down the paper. They were reluctant, yet   
frantic. As he read, he felt his chest tighten, and he  
he became short of breath.   
  
The man who penned the note had used his last words to   
inform Mulder of some secrets, secrets that infuriated him.   
He clasped his hands over his face and let out a grunt,   
halfway between a sigh and a scream.  
  
Mulder did not care about most of the things in the letter,   
most of them were obvious and he had anticipated them.   
One stood out above all the rest, though, a simple statement   
that made his blood run cold.  
  
The Cigarette-Smoking Man was not his father - he   
was Samantha's.   
  
"Damn bastard!" He yelled, momentarily ceasing to care if   
his rage intimidated Scully. "Damn lying bastard!"  
  
"What is it, Mulder?" She questioned, attempting to grab   
for his shoulder, but he pulled away.  
  
"He's not my father, Scully. He's Sam's father."  
  
"Oh, Mulder-"  
  
"Life is just one big game to him, and he always has to win!   
It's one big joke; one big lie! He finished his game; he   
won his game by mocking me with another humorless joke,   
spinning more lies to complete his web! He bragged of his   
sins until the moment he died, and he's bragging about them   
right now in hell!"   
  
He wanted to retrieve his gun, but he knew that Scully   
would shoot herself before she would let him shoot himself.   
Instead, he slid to the floor in front of the couch and   
tucked his head to his chest, squinting his eyes shut and   
scrunching up his face in agony.   
  
"I've got no where to turn, Scully, it's all just one big lie. My whole   
damn life is just one huge lie-"  
  
His voice broke off then, and he surrendered to the comfort   
of her soothing arms. She rocked him back and forth for a   
long time as she gently kissed the top of his head.   
  
Eventually, they would mutually end the embrace. Usually,  
she would leave without a word, and he would let her leave  
without a word. This time, though, she sat sprawled in his   
lap, and he leaned against the couch, his arms protectively   
around her. She took his fingers into her own hands and   
toyed with them, feeling safe and relaxed, as well as an   
emotion that was quite foriegn to her. She felt  
loved. Overwhelmed by her own contentment, she   
attempted to voice her feelings.  
  
"Mulder, sometimes I feel just like you do. Nothing makes   
sense, and no matter how hard I listen, everything that I   
hear is a lie. But then I think of you. You're my truth,   
Mulder. The Cigarette-Smoking Man might have been a liar,  
he might even be lying to you about Samantha, but he told me   
one thing that I hold to be more true than anything else in   
the world."  
  
"Nothing that bastard said could ever be true," he muttered   
irritably, but in a calmer voice. Having her in his arms   
was so comforting that he could not help but capitulate.  
  
"I know it's true, Mulder. I asked my heart, and it agreed   
with what he said. Mulder?"  
  
"What?"   
  
"I love you."   
  
She said the words with such ingenuousness that he knew  
she was telling the truth. He loved her, she loved him, and  
now everything would be perfect. Now they could laugh  
about the time they went undercover as a married couple,  
cry over their Antarctic adventure, and maybe, just maybe,   
he could kiss her again.  
  
"I love you, Scully," he said, "And that's no lie."   
  
THE END (1/1)  
  
Thank you for taking the time to read   
"Truth and Entrapment". I hope you enjoyed it! Please send   
any comments - kisses and flames are both greatly   
appreciated - to heathabear@hotmail.com. Thanks a billion!  
  
You can find all of my fan fiction at my website,  
Mulder + Scully = True Love  
http://mstruelove.tripod.com  
"True love is friendship set on fire." 


End file.
